


Feral Waves of Memories

by Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)



Category: Orphan Black (TV), Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Crossover, M/M, Post-Canon, Prostitution, past Dorian/Angelique
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:16:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/pseuds/Zoi%20no%20miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a chilly evening in some northern, new world city, I catch a glimpse of a ghost long past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feral Waves of Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kerithwyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/gifts).



At the beginning of the twenty-first century, I start slipping out of my fortress and disappearing into the bustle of the world. It's a risk, but a calculated one. The Portrait is safe behind impeccable modern security systems and the more reliable approach of having far more valuable things in the house to damage or steal. My physical form, well... it's always a risk to travel great distances without the Portrait, to leave behind the ability to heal and sustain my physical form. But I had become, unquestionably, more spiritless and apathetic towards life than I'd felt in a long time, and a new adventure was just as necessary to sustain me.

I move through the gray blur of monotony in dozens of cities, seeking out the golden flickers of life and passion that restore my soul and clinging to them until they can no longer hold my interest and give me what I need. Slowly I begin to feel myself again.

Then, on a chilly evening in some northern, new world city, I catch a glimpse of a ghost long past.

For a long moment nothing exists except the beat of my immortal heart and the vision before me. Milk white skin and lips that pout and crease like rose petals, a fan of dark eyelashes against a cheek flushed with the night's chill. And those dark, liquid brown eyes.

He turns as if he can feel my gaze on him, rose petal lips turning into a smile. He strolls towards me, and every step is confidence.

He's not my ghost, of course. Angelique would have never allowed her paint to be smudged like the dark creases on this boy's eyelids. Never cut her proud locks of hair into this boy's short coif, never put a pair of trousers around her hips - especially not these, leather and tight. His flat stomach is on full display below a cropped, artfully ragged t-shirt, and his pants sit low enough that I can see the line of ligament that points from his jutted hipbones down towards his sex, beckoning and promising.

"Do you like what you see, handsome?"

Yes, I want to say, to grab those exposed hips and pull him to me, to feel his delicate rosebud lips crush and bruise under the force of my kisses. I'm enthralled by the question of their sameness, the need to know if he'll gasp and tremble in my grasp like she did so long ago. But that kind of instant gratification is far less sweet than a gentlemanly pursuit, so I reign in my base passions and answer with a smile. 

"Just thinking you must be cold, dressed like that on a night like this."

The boy quirks an eyebrow as he smiles. "Maybe I'm just waiting for someone to warm me up," he replies boldly, and slides a hand into my undone pea coat, sliding it over my hip and slipping his fingers into the back pocket of my slender fitted trousers. "I'm Felix."

He's a prostitute, I recognize now. Rent boys, they call themselves. I wonder if he's as sought-after, as infamous as she once was, or if he's just another pretty face in a sea of desperate, reaching hands. Even what Angelique was is no longer uncommon in this day and age. But I can't help but think that something in his beauty and manner must set him apart. That Angelique, if I were meeting her today, would still have reigned as a Queen among common whores.

I'm charmed by his manner, even more than the sight of him. I'm charmed by his lilting voice, accented with unexpected memories of home, though I can't and don't care enough to place his precise English origin. That it makes me think of Angelique even more is only more compelling.

Felix has the same inviting, expectant smile, everything in his eyes saying that he knows how valuable a commodity his beautiful body is. Each word and movement is another ingredient to strengthen the spell he weaves over men to draw them to him, to make them give him everything he desires until he owns their hearts completely, I'm sure. Or at least their cocks.

It's a pity that he won't agree to the games of pursuit and courtship I would play with a man or woman who was not so blatantly offering their body for sale. I could spend weeks with this one, if I had my way, reveling in desire and restraint, in teasing him with promises and leaving him wanting. But a Queen among whores won't waste his time with that, not in this day when a hundred men must be willing to share his bed. He'll be too proud to stay where his services are not immediately purchased.

"Dorian," I reply, and let my fingers trail along the top of his tight leather trousers, caressing the skin at the small of his back. "I'll give you a thousand dollars if you let me help you with that. Cash in hand."

The sum is, in part, a test. I'm certain it's far higher than he generally demands, not if he's here in the cold working the clubs instead of inside with a cozy clientele list of rich old men willing to empty their wallets to hide their homosexual desires from their pretty wives and judgemental friends. An immediate, greedy agreement wouldn't have dissuaded me, but I'm far more engaged by the way his lips purse as he considers the sum.

"And how do you expect to do that, for that kind of a gift?" He asks carefully, eyes moving over my body in a way that is both appreciative and carefully discerning.

"All night," I reply, and let my fingers graze lower to cup his ass, enjoying the round, firm flesh against my palm through the leather. "No interruptions. The opportunity to... get to know you. In the biblical sense, as it were. Perhaps a few times over. Nothing that would cause you harm or pain. Cash up front."

If he'd been looking for warning signs, he hasn't found any, for he answers me with a smile, pressing himself against me boldly as he claims my lips in a slow, yearning kiss. "Well alright, Dorian. But only because you're pretty."

He takes me a few blocks away, down dirty alleys and past questionable restaurants, and though our path is colored with dusty poverty, it is at the same time charming. It does not have the taint of gang activity or crime, though after how long I have lived I am well able to take care of myself. Still, I approve that Felix has carved out this small place in the world for himself, this poor bohemian hovel that turns out so richly lit and decorated once you pass the dirt and industrial sliding doors and step inside.

"Money first, darling," Felix says as he turns into me, hand still on the screwdriver he's slipped through the door latch to lock it. His lips brush mine. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all." It's half what I carry with me for essential purposes like this, and as he tucks it away somewhere in the loft, I look away respectfully and allow myself to take in the space.

What draws my attention immediately is the art. "Are these your paintings?"

"Just a bit of my work," Felix replies, pleasure colouring his voice despite how he tries to sound modest.

The main area of the apartment is filled with large canvases, several bearing portraits of a dark haired, dark eyed woman with pretty features. She seems like a goddess, the way Felix paints her, a mistress of everything on the earth, each depicted on a different canvas in turn - literature, science, poetry. Art. "They're beautiful. Your subject is quite striking."

"She's my sister, so don't think anything kinky," he replies, smirking at me. "Besides, I only go to bed with boys, even in an orgy."

"I'm just admiring your artistry," I reply, lingering for a few moments longer and letting my eyes drink their fill. "I'm quite partial to portraits."

Felix presses up against my back and slides his hands around my waist and down over my hips. His lips murmur a warm caress next to my ear. "Would you like to pose for me, then? I do excellent nudes."

I make no reply; I'm far more interested now in the other things his mouth can do, and I turn in his embrace to claim it, focusing on every aspect of his lips - their shape and softness against my own, their taste, the way they part eagerly to the flick of my tongue as if to coax more passion from me. Felix arches against me boldy, the press of his body warm and salacious, pushing off my coat so that he can stroke his hands up my chest and over my shoulders unimpeded.

I've been with more whores in my long life than there are days in a year, each one a new experience, each attracting me in a new way. But once in the bedroom many prove the same - simpering creatures playing at innocence, whimpering at being claimed like they are anything but what they are. Others pretend at passion, crying out a mockery of pleasure as they ride my member. Still others display no interest in the proceedings at all. Each experience brings with it a different kind of pleasure, and I have addressed each type with tenderness, or ardent passion, or cruel forcefulness, testing all combinations for their outcome. It is usually pleasurable, though often carries with it a sense of clinical detachment that does not give me the true fulfilment I seek.

In Felix, though, I encounter the one type of response that never fails to catch me up in its spell: true passion and desire. I'd seen hints of it, hoped for it when I met him on the street - his bold invitations, the quirk of his pretty lips and the coquettish flutter of his dark eyelashes against his cheek. He molds himself to me now, drinking in my kisses even as he gasps for breath, even as his fingers tug masterfully but impatiently at my clothes.

I want to devour him, to drink in every hitched gasp and groan of pleasure I pull from his lips as I disrobe him. I want to revel in every second of it, the hint of roughness on his fair skin as I kiss along his jaw, the way he shudders and aches closer when my teeth close on the ligament in his neck. His skin is hot against my own, beautiful despite his flaws - a touch too skinny, a bruise here or there. He's beautiful because of his flaws, this fragile yet ardent mortal boy with his long, slender member standing stiff and proud between his thighs.

I'm on my knees before I can stop myself, nuzzling at the shaved-bare base of his cock, breathing deep of his arousal before swallowing him down. I hunger for his pleasure, for this experience with him more than any drug, and each gasp and buck of his hips blossoms another shiver of ecstasy in my mind. The words that spill from his mouth are well practiced, I'm sure, but spoken with absolute truth and certainty as his fingers clench and pull at my hair, dig into the back of my neck and my shoulders. "Oh fuck yes - suck me just like that, you gorgeous boy."

Despite his desire he's still far too composed, so I move one hand to cup his sack, pressing my knuckles up against the tender flesh behind them. It makes Felix gasp and shudder, and when I swallow him to the hilt the cry it pulls from his lips is both astonished and helpless. "Fuck, Dorian -! God, darling, you're too good - gonna make me come too fast - "

I suck at his cock even as I pull back, letting it part from my lips with a pop and smiling at his moan. I can master sexual vulgarities just as well as he, and I can't help but smirk as they fall from my lips. "Come, then. I want to taste you, want you to come down my throat. Then I'll bend you over the bed and fuck that sweet ass until you come again."

"Oh Jesus - " Felix presses the side of his hand against his mouth but cries out unrestrainedly as I swallow him down again. I groan around the girth of his cock, drinking in the salt of his skin and the bitterness of his arousal. I crave his release, crave this kind of ownership over his pleasure, and Felix doesn't disappoint me, bucking up into my mouth helplessly as orgasm overwhelms him. His voice is a breathless, incredulous moan as he shudders against me, and I hungrily suck every drop from him, an intense brightness of pleasure blossoming though my mind.

His pleasure is rich and fulfilling, even more when he drops to his knees, his lips and questing tongue claiming mine and doing their best to taste the remnants of his passion. His fingers curl around the length of my own erection - achingly hard but not impatiently so - stroking me slowly from root to tip.

"You're irresistible," he murmurs against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip as he circles his thumb against the head of my cock. "You make me so hot, Dorian. Come to bed with me. I want to feel this gorgeous cock inside me."

In the back of my mind I can't help but still compare them, this beautiful boy and my long lost Angelique. Being with Felix is so much of what I've missed so badly that I can't help but crave him, can't think about anything but coming back again and again. At the same time, Felix is beautiful and new to me, the golden light I so badly crave.

I push his lean form over the bed and lavish his thin shoulders with kisses, ignoring for a moment the condom in my hand and drinking in the pleasure of his skin. I nip and suck at his skin, drinking in his gasps of pleasure as I let my cock press between his thighs, thrusting slowly against the soft skin. My hands dance over his hips and sides as my lips kiss the bump of each vertebra on his neck until he's grinding back against me, whimpering, begging. "Oh fuck, Dorian, please - please fuck me, let me feel that gorgeous cock inside me, please - "

It takes seconds to prep, and then I'm sliding home, sighing out my pleasure at the tight hot grip of his ass around my cock. I let myself move in him exactly as I want - slow at first, reveling in the way he clenches and flutters around me, in the way his body tightens around me as I slowly pull back. I move slow to drink in the desperate impatience that quickly grows in him, and my fingers dig into his hips to keep him from fucking himself on my cock. I smile as he whines.

"Oh god darling, don't tease me. You feel so bloody good inside me. Fuck me hard, Dorian, I know you want to.... come on, please?"

I try to tell myself that I'm completely in control, that the hard buck of my hips is my own choice and not an unconscious reaction to his words. That I continue because of the beauty of his cries, fucking up into him hard again and again, hips smacking against the soft flesh of his ass. I drink in  
his gasped encouragements and pleas for more, the way his fingers dig into the mattress white-knuckled, the way he bucks back against me as if he can't get enough of my cock. Each reaction, each cry is truthful and unfettered; Felix revels in this carnal pleasure, in the punishing pound of my sex, and I make no effort to hold back my own pleasure, using him hard and fast until my passion crests into the bright hot ecstasy of orgasm.

Felix grinds back against me even as I come, moving a hand to work his own cock frantically, and I force myself to continue to pound into him. The sensation is painful in its intensity, but worth it for his helpless, broken cry, his body clenching tight and shuddering around my oversensitive shaft as he spends himself in his own fingers, completely a slave to the pleasure I inflict on him.

Afterwards I'm content to listen to him talk, moving about his loft gloriously naked as he pours us both generous glasses of a cheap-but-palatable whisky over ice. Nursing it makes me wait long enough for him to recover before I'm on him again, easily arousing that beautiful passion. 

This time I pin his pale form to the bed and straddle him, riding him slowly and reveling in the pleasure of it. Losing myself in nothing but the moment, the liquid darkness of his eyes and the lushness of his mouth, the ecstasy that shudders through me every time our bodies connect.

I want to lose myself with this beautiful boy for days on end, in bed and out. I want him to show me all the dark and lurid paths of this city, I want to blow him in the dark corner of a dirty nightclub. I want to grind against him on tiny crowded dance floors while we're both so high we can't see straight. Then I want to take him into the finest restaurants in town and get drunk on expensive wine and secretly jerk him off under fine white linen amidst disapproving stares.

The thoughts are as acutely pleasurable as the sex, and I cry out breathlessly as it all overwhelms me, as I paint his chest with streaks of my come.

"Let me buy another night," I murmur as I curl up against him afterwards, nerves buzzing pleasantly in the aftermath of orgasm. "I want to take you out on the town."

Felix's fingers trail through my hair, and though his voice is warm his answer is cautious. "I'm not really the dating type. Even if you are so very pretty."

I turn my face to kiss his palm. "Good, because neither am I. But I'm going to spend the next two weeks before I go back to London surrounded by hedonism and debauchery. It'll be even nicer if you join me for some of it."

"I suppose I could make some time available." Felix's teasing words make me smile, and I lean in to kiss him slowly.

"Everything about you is so unexpected," he murmurs as he curls closer to me, nuzzling my jaw. "It's been a long time since someone's looked at me quite like you do. Like you're completely in the moment and somehow far away at the same time." 

"It's an astute observation," I murmur, watching the way his curls play against my fingers as I caress his hair. "I often feel exactly so."

Felix leans into my touch, watching me quietly with those liquid eyes. "Where do you go?"

I think of Angelique in my arms, in my bed. That short, bright time we had together before it had to end. "You just make me think of someone I knew a long time ago."

Felix's too-kissable lips twitch up into another smile, and I see her again in him. "Good memories, I hope?"

"Bittersweet," I reply truthfully. "But beautiful."

I fall in love with Felix as easily and naturally as I ever did with Angelique. My immortal heart revels in it, though I know it will be a finite, limited feeling. As it always is.

But for now....

I find one of Felix's hands with my own and kiss an ink-stained finger tip.

"I'd like to pay you to paint my portrait."

\- End -

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Rare Pair Fest!! I squeeled like a squeeling thing as I read through all your request and all your grand and glorious ships, but I couldn't resist trying my hand at this unlikely-yet-amazing crossover pairing. Thank you for requesting it, I really enjoyed writing for you!


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